


Isekaied into Middle Earth: A Completely Expected Journey

by Celebrenor



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Isekai, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Teenage Dunedain in Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrenor/pseuds/Celebrenor
Summary: (Insert standard isekai plot summary here) William Grey was an ordinary college student, until he got struck by a bus. Being the nerd that he is, he asked to be isekaied into the world of the Hobbit (Peter Jackson movies). Hilarity ensues. Genderbend as well, by request :) (Also posted on Fanfiction.net)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. So It Begins

Chapter 1

William awoke groggily, eyes still glued shut by sleep. Blindly, he fumbled about for his phone to silence his alarm, and forced his eyes open. The predawn dark of September effused the air, as did the gentle snoring of his roommate.

He sighed, looked down at himself, and said, "Get dressed. Now."

Get dressed he did, fumbling around in the dark, cursing himself for a thrice-damned fool for choosing the early morning classes. He was a student at college all right he thought, stumbling to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of instant coffee, grabbed a bottle of Mountain Ops energy drink from the fridge, snagged his backpack and was off.

William walked out the door waking up as he went to the bus stop. His first class of the day was a simple music/music history class. He stumbled into the brightening dawn toward the bus stop. As always he was the only one there. He waited through the September morning cold, breath fogging in the air- "Should've brought gloves," he muttered.

The bus was late. The driver, an experienced man, hadn't ever been late before and was rushing. He knew it was dangerous, skirting blind corners over the speed limit, but it was nearly 6 AM, who would even be out this early?

William decided he'd had enough waiting and stepped out onto the street.

He never saw the bus coming.

William awoke in a featureless white room. He glanced around and then at himself. He stood up, dusted himself off and said, "Well bugger me, Rowling was right."

"Not entirely," said a voice behind him. William turned around and found a man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cutoff denim shorts drinking a martini. He was… difficult to describe. He didn't seem godly enough to belong here, but it certainly wasn't Dumbledore. He had close-cropped silver/white hair, a small amount of stubble, and a handsome enough face.

"Welcome to Limbo," he said.

William asked, "Have I been isekai-d?"

"God" chuckled at that. "Indeed you have. Sorry about that, you were a good enough person, so it seems I should… reward you, especially since it was my own mistake. Any specific requests?"

William chuckled. "Yeah. Hey, the whole multiverse thing, are you the boss of all of that?"

"Oh no, that's too much work for me. Just yours is enough.

"Oh," William paused. Then can I talk to a version of… um… Eru Ilúvatar?"

"God" laughed outright at this. "I do remember that you were a Tolkien fan. I suppose it's all right."

A hand clasped William's shoulder. Eru smiled as William turned around, white robes glowing, looking exactly as William believed a deity should. "You wish to enter my world? I suppose it would be all right. Though you must promise me you will be a positive influence, and a force for good. Now that I've handed control over to the Valar and the Maiar, I cannot do anything by my own limitations.

"Except now, I have _you._ "

"What do you mean?" asked William

"Well, if you do enter my world, I will be able to… influence you, if you will, to make things turn out the way I think they should. Not manipulate you per se, but give you information as to what may happen, and to guide you in places that will achieve the best possible outcome for all of us."

"Of course. I think I understand, but you know already that my agreement is unnecessary. I chose Tolkien's… or _your_ world? And I plan to change it for the better."

Eru said, "Do you have any specific requests?"

William, smiling, replied, "Yeah, a few."

"First, I want a smartphone with access to the internet… but I'm already dead… so just anything that was already, with, of course, no ability to edit what's on there. So I guess a phone with a cached copy of the entire internet?"

"Done," said the god of Earth. "Anything else?"

"Just a few more things." He turned to Ilúvatar, and made his other requests; A conversational knowledge of the Elvish languages, Khuzdul, and whatever the common language is. Also, and this is important, cause I don't know the Silmarillion well, I'd like to be," he paused for a moment thinking. _What would you even call it? Reborn? Teleported?_ "Reborn as one of the Dúnedain about my age, and a few years before the company of Thorin Oakenshield meets in Bag end. Preferably close to Rivendell."

"Done, done, and done!" cried Eru. "Are you certain you do not wish for anything else? If you think of something later, you _do_ have a smartphone with our numbers," he said, pointing to the receding god and himself. "Do keep in touch. And remember, do try not to get eaten by the Dragon."

William awoke without ceremony in the middle of a wood. It didn't _seem_ "Middle Earth-ish," but he could probably, hopefully trust the word of two gods. He looked around and winced at what he saw.

His arrival seemed to have caused an explosion. The nearby trees had all been bent away, stripped of their branches and still smoking. Shifting his weight, he felt underneath him, feeling only hard rock and bare dirt.

He sat up, feeling oddly fatigued and heavy, yet stronger than ever. As he sat up though, he was met by the unmistakable sound of a half dozen bows being drawn. Sighing, he thought about the fact that he'd been "respawned" near Rivendell, and elves, like any sane race, were naturally suspicious and wary of any and all explosive entries to their peaceful village.

He opened his mouth to speak, to explain and then closed it, brows knitting. He felt around his mouth with his tongue. "New teeth Okay. New voice too, mi mi mi MI mi mi mi…" he sang a simple scale, testing the limits of his now much higher voice. He looked around again, at the gathered elves and then down at himself. Or herself, she guessed, as she gazed down at two new additions to his figure.

 _Well that's new,_ she thought, and then promptly fainted.


	2. A Meeting With Lord Elrond

William-ette woke up to a splitting headache. As a college student, he'd had some experiences with hangovers, but after a night of heavy drinking and the ensuing headache the next morning, he'd sworn off alcohol.

What she recalled of the experience though, was that it felt much more pleasant than her current affliction.

She sat up, squinting at the golden daylight and noticed a surprising amount of things, considering the railroad spikes being metaphorically driven into her skull, the first of which was that her bedding was absolutely divine. Second, she'd been changed into a simple nightgown of soft linen, and third, and most important, Lord Elrond of Imladris, Mr. Hugo Weaving himself sat beside her bed staring at her with a wary curiosity.

Of course, also in the room were two doctor/healer elves, but they occupied a lot less of her attention and brainpower than Lord Elrond.

Considering her current inability to function, Lord Elrond spoke first. "Greetings, and welcome to Rivendell in the valley of Imladris, the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

"We are glad you could finally join us, Nestariel and Sidhiel were getting worried," he said, gesturing to the two healers. "Rivendell welcomes any and all who seek refuge here in its halls, but I'm afraid you have many of us concerned, considering we know nothing at all about you. If I may, how did you come to be in that crater?"

William-ette - (I've got to think of a better name for myself,) she thought, answered, "My lord Elrond, I hope you will believe me, but I came from another world, one where this world is a very famous series of stories. I know this is hard to believe-"

Elrond cut her off gently with an upraised hand. "For the past year we have received portents and omens of your arrival, though up until this moment we did not know exactly what they were referring to. I believe I should have been more specific.

"I would like to hear your story, a traveller between worlds, how is such a thing possible?" he asked, with a chuckle.

"Well if you want my whole story," she said, chuckling as well, "I was born in our year two thousand and one. I grew up in a small town with my parents. From my early years, they instilled in me a love of reading, writing, and creativity in general. When I was young, I read a collection of books collectively titled 'The Lord of the Rings' in which I learned a brief segment of the history of Arda."

She went on to tell him of her meeting with her (world? universe?)'s deity and given a chance of rebirth in a different world. Drawn to those stories, I chose here to be reborn."

"Indeed," Elrond said pensively. "This is an interesting story you have told me, and it certainly explains your strange apparel upon your arrival. However, if what you say is true, what is so momentous about here and now that you asked for it specifically?"

She answered, "It's simple, but it will take a long time to tell. I'd rather do it once for all the right people than many times separately."

"I see," he said, frowning. "And who exactly are these 'right people?'"

"Umm…" she thought for a bit, hesitating. "The Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, Mithrandir, or Gandalf, and King Thranduil of the Greenwood. That's all I can think of for now."

"A very noble company. Though, may I ask, why Gandalf instead of Saruman?"

"Well… I'd rather explain that to Mithrandir himself, considering it is a matter between the Istari," she said, smiling grimly.

"I will see what I can do."


	3. Three Rings and a King

Chapter III

Many months and many… adjustments to feminine life later, a meeting had been called. Elrond had asked her to elaborate on her world, and with help from her smartphone (WITCHCRAFT) she had. In the intermediate time, he'd set her up with tutors and had personally instructed her in the history of Middle Earth from the Years of the Lamps onward. She, in return, shared ideas, conceptual technology that could easily be dwarf- or elf-made, and even a couple of fan theories that she'd heard, such as the theory that the Arkenstone was one of the Silmarils, which Elrond conclusively, heartily disproved, (The Silmarils couldn't be touched by mortal hands, plus they shone with a different kind of light) and the theory that Tom Bombadil, the Shire's "Green Man" with blue coat and yellow boots was in fact the author of Lord of the Rings, Tolkein himself.

That… he was less sure about.

From her tutors, she received lessons in etiquette, swordfighting, archery, magic, anything that the elves of Rivendell had to teach her. She learned Herbalism from a kindly elf named Nestariel, one of the two healers who'd attended her during her rather unorthodox entry to Middle Earth.

Arwen, surprisingly, had embraced her as a sort of long-lost sibling, helping with her studies, keeping her company, and especially her more… feminine problems.

Eventually, the council met, as always, in Rivendell. She'd eventually gotten over her starstruck-ness with Elrond, but seeing Gandalf, Galadriel and Thranduil in one place had slowed her mental computer to Internet Explorer-like levels, another reference she gleefully explained to Lord Elrond. Before the assembled, elven nobility and even Gandalf, she felt clumsy and ungraceful in the outfit Arwen had lent her. She stood before the half circle of chairs under their scrutinizing gazes, using all of her willpower to keep from fainting or wringing her hands.

She bowed deeply to the group and introduced herself. Elrond had thought her theory that Middle Earth was a sort of precursor to her own world had enough merit, so she introduced herself as a young woman from "Late Earth." The assembled paused for a minute, contemplating, and then Gandalf spoke first.

"An intriguing story indeed, but I would like further proof than your story, milady."

"Is not my belief in her enough?" asked Elrond.

"Mellon, I trust you, but I do not trust her."

She smiled warily and wearily at this exchange, having anticipated this question. She produced her old clothes, a pair of jeans and a faded black Led Zeppelin tee, then produced her phone and allowed them to inspect and examine the curious items.

"And, have you proof of your knowledge of 'things you couldn't otherwise?'" asked Lady Galadriel.

"Of course. I do not wish to presume, but Lord Elrond, could you affirm the fact that my teachers, scholars, and of course, yourself, have not taught me anything that an, albeit well learned, resident of Middle Earth wouldn't know?"

"Of course, I swear on it," agreed Elrond.

"Then, again, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but in this room are the three rings of power crafted by Celebrimbor near the fifteen-hundredth year of the Second Age." She spoke quickly to avoid stammering or fainting, and turned to Thranduil. "I know that the white gems of starlight, the Gems of Lasgalen were a memorial for your wife and that Thrór, King under the Mountain, stole them and tried to ransom them. I know that you never speak or spoke to your son of his mother, who died at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar." Her hands shook as she tried to keep her voice level, feeling for the king's loss, even if he didn't seem to right now.

Galadriel and Gandalf, on the other hand, were shocked into silence, truly believing her story now. In a quieter voice, she continued, "I know it was this theft, plus the threat of the death of your people, plus your own experiences with the fire drakes of the North that made you turn your back on the dwarves when they asked for aid," she stopped, running out of steam.

Gandalf pulled a grim face. "This is evidence enough for me. She bears the signs, the influence of a great and powerful magic that I have not seen for quite some time…" he said, looking at her with narrowed eyes, to which she almost imperceptibly nodded.

Galadriel placed her hand on his arm, inclining her head meaningfully, and then turned her head to… (still need to come up with a new name for myself).

"My child, you alluded to the fact that you had chosen this specific time to be reborn. There is something that happens in the near future that you wished to warn us about?"

Gandalf interrupted before Galadriel could continue, "Yet what is so important that Saruman could not come?"

"Sauron is returning."


	4. Texting God

Chapter IV

She stood in the practice field, swords at the ready. In honor of her namesake, she'd chosen to dual-wield a pair of blades she had forged herself (It had taken multiple tries.) Also in honour of her namesake, she had tinted one red and the other purple and since they were Elven made, they glowed in the presence of Orcs or Goblins. Or, were supposed to at least. She didn't know if they would since she hadn't encountered any orcs or goblins yet.

Her opponent, a younger elf named Tadion, stood waiting for her to make this first move. Instead, she waited.

Minutes passed this way until Tadion grew impatient enough to lunge at her- he was fast, even for an elf, but she'd been training against elves for nearly four years now, and was at least ready to parry his blow. She was outclassed in speed, but she knew the techniques and the correct combinations. It was close, ending with her the loser, but only barely.

"Well done," said Elrond from behind her. She and Tadion turned and bowed to their lord, who motioned for her to join him. Cleaning, then sheathing her blades on her back, she followed him toward the meeting hall.

He turned to face her once they were alone. "You have improved greatly, child. You are nigh the equal of any Elven swordsman I have met, and your skills with a bow or staff are undeniable.

"But I am afraid to inform you that you will be departing from Rivendell shortly." Seeing her worried look, he took one of her hands in his. "Your teachers believe you are able to fight any foe you will meet, save Smaug himself. Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir have both agreed that you should leave to the Shire and acquaint yourself with Master Baggins to prepare him for the journey ahead, both mentally and physically."

"Of course," she agreed. Then she startled him with a surprise hug. "I will miss you, _Adar._ "

"And I you, _Anelen._ "

Her friends in Rivendell offered their goodbyes, best wishes and various wellbeings. Arwen pulled her into a tear-filled hug, and then she was off.

She rode a mild-mannered black clydesdale, an unusually large horse, but a gentle giant given her by Elrond himself. She rode west along the East Road (the irony of which was not lost on her) noting the different locations as she went- the farmer's house in the Trollshaws, Weathertop, and eventually stopped in Bree. On her way into the city, she was startled by an unfamiliar buzz from her pocket. Startled, she pulled back on the reins, causing her horse to rear up, and dump her off his back in a most unladylike manner.

She scrambled to her feet, dusted herself off, glared at all the snickering passersby, and pulled out her phone. Someone- Eru? Was texting her!

She unlocked her phone, and stared at the now-unfamiliar interface, then another ping startled her out of her reverie.

ERU: You OK? You took a nasty spill there.

She glared up at the sky. "You're watching me?"

ERU: Of course I am. You're - so to speak - my only piece on the chess board. Plus, I am supposed to be an all-knowing deity, so I tend to keep tabs on everything.

She sighed, "Fair enough. What do you need? I am obviously, patently, at your service.

ERU: In the Prancing Pony, there is a man by the name of Rhauon. Speak to him, please, and convince him in any way possible to return to Gondor. Doing so will set in motion a chain of events that will facilitate Aragorn's ascent to the throne.

"Really? It's that easy? All right, if you say so!"

She re-horsed herself and rode towards the Prancing Pony, stabling her Clydesdale, which she affectionately named Hinnordor, and entered the tavern.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room fairly quickly and immediately wished that Eru would reconsider. The room was boisterous and full, two long tables surrounded by smaller booths up against the walls. Every single booth had at least one occupant.

She sent a quick text to Eru (I'm texting a God,) she thought, smirking, asking which was Rhauon.

WILL: Hey, this place is full and I really don't want to be leered at by every guy that I try to ask their name. Which one's Rhauon?

ERU: The Cherek ;)

She shook her head and laughed, looking for an extraordinarily large, red-bearded man. She found him in the corner, laughing and entertaining quite a few of the tavern's occupants. She slipped herself into the circle, hood pulled up to hide her feminine features, and raised a quick illusion to make her hard to notice.

"And _that's_ why," he roared, "All the Elves have long ears!"

The table exploded with laughter, the men slamming their tankards against the scarred and pitted oak wood.

"Aye, Rhau, another!" hollered a rather tipsy Hobbit in a thick Scottish brogue.

"Now now, Orik, if you want more, you'll have to pay for my dinner!" the giant announced, setting off another chorus of laughter.

Eventually the room cleared up, patrons leaving to the streets or to their rented rooms. Draining a tankard and letting loose a mighty belch, Rhauon said, "So tell me, a lady of the Dúnedain with elf-enchanted swords sits at my table. Why?"

Surprised that he'd seen through her spell, she sat dumbstruck.

"Now, seriously if you would I would like to retire for the evening. Either explain now or on the way to my rooms."

Affronted by this rather outrageous insinuation, she sent him a cold glare, speaking with her most high-and-mighty voice: "I come at the behest of one greater and much more knowledgeable than I."

"And what does this mysterious benefactor have to tell me?" asked Rhauon with a condescending smile.

"That you are to make all haste to Gondor," she replied, growing angrier with this outrageous man.

"Why?" he shot back, getting more and more bored by the minute.

"Your presence and actions there will…" she dropped the voice that was obviously not working. "Let me put it this way. There is a young man, one of the Dúnedain Riders of Arnor called Strider. His real name is Aragorn son of Arathorn, and he is the Heir to the throne of Gondor. You are to prepare the way for him to reclaim his throne in sixty years' time."

All trace of boredom vanished from his face. "Truly?" he asked, voice filled with hope and awe.

"I swear it on my blades," she swore.

"If what you say is true, then I will make all haste. If not, well, if what you say is false, I will make you regret having the lifespan of a Dúnedain." He stood, raising his second tankard, drained it, and bowed before heading for the door.

Moments later, he re-entered, and strode up to her, raising himself to his full height, and asked, "In case we meet again as allies, may I ask of you your name?"

She stood, and outstretched her hand, which he readily clasped.

"I am Revan of the Dúnedain, adopted daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

**Translations:**

Anelen: My Daughter

Adar: Father


	5. Meeting Master Baggins

Chapter V

The rest of Revan's journey to Hobbiton was uneventful. No attacks by man nor beast, no more random texts from her divine benefactor, not even a random highwayman.

She arrived at Bilbo's door with great trepidation, wondering exactly how the halfling would greet her. Certainly he'd be a good host, but she was sent on ahead to make the best first impression possible, and even help the decision to go on the adventure easier. She could smell cooking from within and knocked gently on the door. She smiled when she heard Bilbo's mutterings about unexpected guests being "Most unwelcome at this time of night, thank you very much," and grinned outright when he opened the door.

"Yes?" he said, when she didn't introduce herself. "Good evening?" he prompted further.

"Oh, yes!" she started. "Revan, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," he answered uninterestedly. "I do hope you know that it is a most indecent time of night for travelling peddlers and the like," he said, frowning.

"Master Baggins, I am on certain business here in Hobbiton, and I was assured that you would be the best option to turn to, the 'Most proper' Hobbit of Hobbiton," she said, hoping she wasn't laying it on too thick.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean," he said, attempting to close the door, finding Revan's riding boot keeping it from closing all the way.

"Master Baggins, I implore you, I am well willing to pay, and to put forth any effort in doing my part," she half-begged.

Startled by her forwardness, Bilbo opened the door, which she took for an invitation to come in. She could tell that he was preparing some sort of passive-aggressive remark at her expense, so she softened the blow of her entry by saying, "This is a beautiful home. Did you do it yourself?" fore-echoing Kili's remark in a few months time, knowing the answer.

"No, it's been in the family for years," Bilbo said, hurrying up to catch up to her.

"I trust you received my letters?" she asked, knowing that no such letters had even been sent in the first place.

"No, I don't believe I did. I'm sorry, do we know each other?" he asked, growing visibly alarmed as Revan took off her riding cloak and boots at the door.

"I don't believe so," she replied, standing and exploring Bag End, careful not to touch the antique chairs.

"Of course not," he muttered to himself. Raising his voice, he asked, "Will you be staying for supper?"

"Master Baggins, if all goes well, I believe I shall be staying for quite a few suppers," she answered laughingly. "I can pay, of course, and will be able to pay for the first month in advance."

"I beg your pardon? Month? _First?_ "

Revan moved into one of Bag End's spared bedrooms, a nice, well-lit bedroom on the inside of the hill with no windows, (which was just fine with her.) The bed was, of course, Hobbit-sized, so she used a little magic to enlarge it for her own use.

Though her primary objective was to become acquainted with, and eventually friends with a certain Hobbit, she'd been given many tasks in the Shire by the White Council. Hobbiton was her primary base of operations, she roamed far and wide, gathering information, cataloguing rumours and essentially being Elrond's informant in the Shire.

She did become fast friends with Bilbo, bonding over their shared study of the outside world, and their ironic dislike of intruders and company. He taught her how to cook, and she taught him a few songs from her old world, though she'd nearly forgotten it.

It was odd, thinking back of her life on Earth, especially now that she'd become so accustomed to being female. Her phone was used almost exclusively for the study of Tolkien's books and even the various fan websites explaining things she'd never been sure of, and even all of the different theories posed by the various crackpots, nerds, and obsessives on the internet.

One thing she actively avoided in her travels were the Dúnedain, by special request of Eru. He'd texted her one day, making it explicitly clear that she was to avoid them, though not explaining why. She followed his wishes, though, avoiding the descendants of the Númenórean kings.

It all came to an end in the early summer, when she saw Gandalf on the road to Hobbiton. She hailed him, riding over to him and his cart to speak with him. "Is it time already?" she asked him.

"Milady, you, not I, possess knowledge of future events, though it is good to see you, _Mellon._ "

"My apologies, my friend. It is good to see you as well. As to your assertion, I only know of two dates with any specificity, the others are more... fluid. Inconstant. Though I hope to keep the timeline as intact as possible; if events change too much, I will be of no help at all," she answered, once again growing worried at the daunting task in front of her.

"Nonsense, milady. You've trained well in your five years here. I know there was immense pressure on you, even by yourself to be ready for the Company of Oakenshield's quest, but you have exceeded every expectation. I know that you chose to be reborn as one of the Dúnedain, but still, the years have advanced enough that I see you have grown!"

"Oh don't be tiresome, _Mithrandir_ , it's only Master Bilbo's cooking," she replied, smiling.

They laughed and talked all the way to Hobbiton, where sat Bilbo smoking his favourite pipe as he so often did when Revan left the house. She pulled back deciding to let the whole "Good Morning" scene play out without her help, and decided to go into Hobbiton to pick up some extra food for that night's company.


	6. Princes are Vain and Useless Things

Chapter VI

"Miss Revan! Miss Revan!" cried a certain farming Hobbit. "It's nice to have you back in Hobbiton. Come have a feel of me taters!" he continued. "They've just come in from West Farthing!"

"Have they now, Master Worrywart? Let's take a look," replied Revan.

Taking a look at her overloaded baskets full of goodies and mealstuffs, Worrywart asked, "Is Master Bilbo preparing for company? Or are ye just making a nice dinner?"

"Oh I don't know about company, but earlier today, there was a strange man?"

Master Worrywart laughed, "Oh, that'll be Master Bilbo's wizard, I would guess, wouldn't it?"

Revan answered knowingly, "I suppose it would, wouldn't it. Certainly matches the description."

She paid for five pounds of potatoes, gossiping with Master Worrywart about how the crops were doing in Bree and all through Buckland, then left to purchase the rest of that night's enormous meal. She thought back to her time on Earth - such a strange thing to remember, nowadays, especially since she hardly thought of it at all, anymore - and remembered her family's massive feasts around the holidays (but no Thanksgiving, 'cause she was English) and made decisions on what to make for the Oakenshield Company.

She returned home, stabled her horse, and managed to unpack it into the pantry without Bilbo seeing. She cooked a mighty feast indeed, surprising Bilbo, but assuring him that she was only cooking such a large meal due to her return home. Of course Bilbo had to tell her about how that bothersome old wizard had tried to whisk him away on a bothersome adventure, and she smiled and nodded, knowing that by this time tomorrow, they'd be well on their way to Bree.

She prepared the extra food and hid it in the pantry, preparing for the enormous appetites of the dwarves (especially Bombur). She'd just got the second pheasant in the pantry when she heard the doorbell ring. Snagging a full bottle of red wine for Gandalf, she walked out the pantry door just in time to hear Bilbo say "...At yours? Sorry, do we know each other?"

"No," Dwalin said gruffly. "Which way laddie? Is it down here?"

Hesitantly following, Bilbo asked, "Is what down… where?"

As Dwalin took off his coat and tossed it to Bilbo, Dwalin answered, "Supper. He said there'd be food, and lots of it." He strode down the hallway, searching for either the pantry or the dining table, where he encountered Revan. Startled by the appearance of someone that wasn't Bilbo, his eyebrows shot up before lowering into a glare. "You. Housemaid, or whatever. I'm here for supper."

"I'll bring you supper, but if you call me housemaid again, I'll boot you out of the house, Dwalin, son of Fundin. My name is Revan and you will call me as such," she stated while laying down a plate of salmon in front of the bald dwarf.

Surprised into shock, Dwalin didn't move until she disappeared around the corner, where she collapsed against the wall in shock - she'd just told off Master Dwalin, of all the things she could've done!

"Who said?" Bilbo asked, coming around the corner.

"Very good, this. Any more?" asked Dwalin, trying to save face and also trying to ignore the fact he'd been told off by a mere _human girl._

"What? Oh, yes." replied Bilbo, bringing over a plate of biscuits. "It's just… I wasn't expecting company," after which, to be comedically appropriate, the doorbell rang.

Mouth full of food, Dwalin looked up just to say, "That'll be the door."

Muttering about the various defects of Dwarves, Bilbo opened the door to find Master Balin, who introduced himself.

"Good evening!" Bilbo said, shocked, letting the Dwarf in.

"Yes it is," Balin agreed. "Though, I think it might rain later. Am I late?"

"Late for what?" Bilbo asked, growing even more concerned. Balin then spotted Dwalin in the hallway, and they ran towards each other.

"Oh! Evening, Brother!"

Clear from the pantry, Revan could hear, and winced at, the resounding sounding thunk that occurs when two incredibly thick-skulled dwarves hit heads. The rest of the scene played out exactly as she had seen it in the movie, Fili and Kili arriving, though was different, because when they handed their weapons to Bilbo, they noticed and admired Revan's blades hanging there on the wall.

Gandalf arrived, and Revan poured him a glass of wine, "with a fruity bouquet," and poured herself something a little stronger. One of the advantages of living in a place known for its potatoes, (Thank you Master Sam) were people had plenty of time and materials to make things a little stronger than wine. However, thanks to her Dúnadan body, it made her a little harder to get drunk.

She watched the "Blunt the Knives" song with slack-jawed admiration at the dwarvish coordination and elegance, not to mention she hadn't really believed that anybody could just break into a song like that, and applauded afterwards.

Bilbo pulled her aside after the song, and hissed, "You knew they were coming?"

"My dear friend, when you said Wizard, Gandalf, and adventure in quick succession, I had some idea," she laughed. "Dwarves though, that was a new one for me."

She led a grumbling Bilbo to the dining room just in time for Thorin to thump on the door.

"He is here," Gandalf announced ominously.

Opening the door, Thorin stood there looking all noble and… tall. She hadn't realized how tall all the dwarves were, but Thorin shocked her with his stature and bearing.

"Gandalf," Thorin said, looking relieved. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice. Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

As Gandalf shut the door behind Thorin, the dwarves bowed, and Bilbo elbowed his way through to get a look at his door.

"Mark? There's no mark on that door," he said, somewhat angrily. "It was painted a week ago."

"There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, Revan Grey, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said, by way of introduction.

"So, this is the Hobbit," Thorin said, disdainfully. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" Bilbo asked.

"Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice," he said, rather than stated.

"Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see why that's relevant."

"I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar. And you, girl." he said, turning to Revan. "Are you any good with those," he asked, gesturing to her swords hung by the door," Or do you only play at swordfighting?"

A small part of Revan noticed with glee that Master Dwalin stiffened, eyes wide with warning when the Dwarvish prince had the nerve to call her "girl," but the vast majority of her attention was occupied by the prince himself.

"Call me 'Girl' again, Master Thorin, and you will find out exactly how good I am with these," she said, picking up and expertly twirling her blades between her hands, before sheathing them in her belt, ignoring Gandalf's scandalized expression.

Keeping the peace as always, Balin interrupted before Thorin could dig himself into a verbal hole just in time. "What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?"

Tearing his glare from Revan, Thorin answered, "Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," to which the assembled company whispered excitedly.

Dwalin asked, "What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

Thorin visibly hesitated before answering, a note of bitterness in his voice. "They will not come."

Even though Revan had been expecting this, she was as disheartened as the company at this news.

Thorin continued; "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

In the midst of groans and sighs, Bilbo looked up. "You're going on a quest?"


	7. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield

_"You're going on a quest?"_

Bilbo looked up toward the dwarves, confused, even as Gandalf tapped him on the shoulder. "Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."

Revan watched as Gandalf pulled out the map to the lonely mountain, then stepped back for Biblo to set down the candle next to Gandalf.

"Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak." He pointed to the dragon-guarded peak on the map for Bilbo to see.

"The lonely mountain?" Bilbo read/asked, noticing the red dragon on the map.

Gloin shouted from the back, "Aye! Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." All of the dwarves groaned at this no doubt oft-repeated refrain, when Oin joined in.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountains as it was foretold: When the Birds of Yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Bilbo put a few things together in his head, worried. "What beast?"

Fili spoke up helpfully. "Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne firebreather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals."

Bilbo, growing pale, said, "Yes, I know what a dragon is."

Balin interrupted wearily, "The task to win back the mountain would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just eleven, and not eleven of the best." The rest of the dwarves objected to this catch-all insult, shouting and protesting until Gloin yelled over the crowd, "We may be few in numbers, but we're fighters! All of us, to the last Dwarf!"

"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf must've killed hundreds of dragons in his time," Kili naïvely shouted.

"Well, no, I wouldn't say that I -" Gandalf began, but was interrupted by Fili.

"How many then?"

"What?"

"How many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

Gandalf coughed on his pipe smoke, embarrassed, causing the Dwarves to groan hopelessly. Enraged, Thorin roared, rising to his feet.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?" The dwarves rose to their feet, cheering, inspired by their prince. Even Revan felt moved, knowing the potential disaster that could come to the line of Durin from this quest.

Balin yelled over the din, "You forget, the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain."

Gandalf spoke into the ensuing silence. "That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true."

With a magical flash of his fingers, Gandalf produced an ornate iron key, clearly smithed in the style of the Dwarf kingdom of Erebor, which Thorin stared at hopefully.

"How came you by this?" The dwarf prince asked in a whisper.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now," Gandalf said, handing the key gingerly to Thorin.

Kili spoke up, stating what was on everyone's mind. "If there is a key, there must be a door!"

Gandalf agreed, saying, "These runes speak of another passage into the lower halls."

Wondrously, Fili said, "There's another way in!"

"Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Oin said helpfully.

"A good one too. An expert, I'd imagine," said Bilbo, looking down at the map.

"And are you?" asked Gloin.

Pausing, looking up, Bilbo said, "Am I what?" quite nervously.

Cheering, mishearing, Oin said, "He said he's an expert!"

As Bilbo and Balin exchanged words, with Dwalin denigrating Hobbits in general, Gandalf stepped close to Revan, and asked, "You know the way in, don't you?"

"Of course I do, _Mithrandir_ , but I'm trying to keep the timeline as on-track as possible. If I change future events too much, I will be of no help to anyone."

Gandalf spoke up just in time, saying, "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet! In fact, they can go unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage." He turned to Thorin, trying to make his point all the clearer. "You asked me to find the last members of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins and Ms. Grey. There's a lot more to them than appearances suggest, and they've got a great deal to offer than any of you know, including themselves. You must trust me on this."

Thorin sighed, looking around the room, gaze pausing on both Bilbo and Revan, weighing the outcomes. "Very well. We'll do it your way." Turning to Balin, he said, "Give him our contract."

Balin explained to Bilbo, "It's just the usual summary of out of pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements and so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo asked, accepting the contract reluctantly, reading out, "Terms: cash on delivery, up to, but not exceeding one eighth of total profit, if any. Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to - lacerations? Evisceration? Incineration?"

"Aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!"

Realizing what was about to happen, Revan slunk out of the room in search of something to cushion Bilbo's fall. She'd just managed to find a small pillow when she heard the distressed, "Nope," and crack of Bilbo's head against his hardwood floor.

"Oh, very helpful, Fili," Gandalf chastised.

* * *

While waiting for Bilbo to recuperate, Revan got the chance to become more acquainted with the rest of the company, especially dear old Balin, who she much enjoyed conversing with. Dwalin on the other hand, was roaring with laughter as he told and retold the story of how she'd threatened him, embellishing the brief encounter with every tell.

"And then she pulled out her bootknife, backed me up against the wall, and said, 'My name is Revan, and you will call me as such!' By my beard, she had me shaking in my boots!" he told Fili and Kili, who turned to Revan with eyes wide.

Instead of confirming or denying Dwalin's story to the sons of Dís, she merely arched an eyebrow at them, which sent them scurrying off, much to the elder dwarf's laughter.

Her attempts to speak with the dwarvish prince, on the other hand, were met with disdainful grunts, single-word answers and silence. Eventually, since she had spent so much time preparing the food and serving it out - housemaid indeed, she thought, - she poured herself a bowl of soup and sat near him in comfortable silence.

She knew she had to speak to him somehow, protect him from the dragon sickness that would be his downfall. Of course, she didn't ever think it would be this hard! She heard Bilbo and Gandalf speaking in the other room, no doubt exactly as had been shown in the movie. Thorin stood, stepping out into the hallway with Balin, with Revan following close behind.

"It appears we have lost our burglar. Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend," Balin said, hopelessly.

"There are a few warriors amongst us," Thorin said.

"Old warriors."

"I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart; I can ask no more than that."

"You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built us a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

Thorin, half-noticing Revan standing in the doorway looking upon the conversation, pulled out the key from his pocket, holding it up for Balin to see. "From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

"Then we are with you, laddie. We'll see it done," Balin said, placing a hand on Thorin's shoulder.


	8. A King and his Seer

**From now on:**

_Sindarin_

**_Khuzdul_ **

_** Black Speech ** _

* * *

Chapter 8

Revan packed her things with great care, knowing that tonight was her last night in Bag End, at least for a while. Thirteen months, if she remembered correctly. She sighed, leaning back against her wall, sitting on her bed and closing her eyes. One last day of mundanity, one last day before the company headed off towards the Lonely Mountain.

Five long years she'd spent here in Middle Earth, trying to emotionally prepare herself for this day. Knowing the trials that would come ahead, the Trolls, Spiders, Orcs and the Dragon at the end of the road, not to mention the battle of five armies that would come after, she sighed again, this time ending with something that was decidedly not a whimper, and picked herself up off the bed and strode into the hall. She paused, stroking the doorframe, knowing this would also be the last day before Rivendell that she was able to have a nice meal and a warm bed to look forward to at the end of the day.

She froze at the door, hearing Thorin's deep voice singing the song of the lonely mountain.

 _"Far over the Misty Mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old. We must away ere break of day, to find our long forgotten gold."_ She slumped against the doorframe, seeing Gandalf staring out the window, knowing Bilbo was off in his room listening as well. The rest of the dwarves arose from their positions, joining in.

" _The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night, the fire was red, its flaming spread, the trees like torches blazed with light._ " Her eyes welled up as she heard the pain and loss evident in the gathered dwarves voices.

As soon as they had stopped their song, Revan was shaken from her reverie by the sound of heavy boots walking across the hardwood floors; Thorin stepped close to Revan, eyes narrowing with derision.

"I did not ask for your help on this, our quest. I understand the Wizard foisting the Hobbit on us, but I did not instruct him to bring us a human girl. I trust his judgement, but I do not trust you. Nor can I guarantee your safety on this quest."

"I understand," she began. "Would it help for me to explain my presence here? I specifically asked Gandalf to be a part of this quest."

His eyebrows knit in confusion. "When did you ask? When he came by the Hobbit today?"

"No. You see…" she paused, trying to figure out how to explain her foreknowledge. He'd never believe an interdimensional traveler, or…

"I am a seer. I see the future."

Judging by his fearsome, dark expression, this had been the wrong way to go. "Do you wish to stop us on the quest? Are you a spy for someone else?"

"No! Of course not!" she defended, but he was deaf to her protestations.

"You have signed the contract, and you will journey with us to the mountain, but only because I trust the Wizard. If you put _one toe out of line_ you will not live to tell the tale," he growled, then stomped off.

Dumbstruck by his sudden shift in demeanor, Revan just stood there, staring after him.

"You might want to close your mouth, lassie," Dwalin chuckled from behind her. Startled, she spun around to find the Brothers 'Lin shoulder to shoulder, wry smiles on their faces.

Balin stepped forward. "Don't worry, lass. Thorin has good reason to dislike fortunetellers, seers, and the like."

"Really?" she asked, growing curious. This part hadn't been in the books or movie.

"Not long before the Dragon came, a seer came to Erebor, by the name of Cennatar. This so-called 'Lord of Seers' foretold a lifetime of peace and prosperity for the Dwarves of Erebor under the line of Durin."

She grimaced; she could guess what came next.

"His voice hadn't even finished echoing from the halls when Thorin alerted the guards to Smaug coming down the mountain. So much for the visions of the future. Later still, in the Halls of Ered Luin, another seer came. Now, Dwarves are a naturally superstitious people, and one bad fruit didn't ruin the bushel. This seer saw long lives for the young princes, and well, so far he's been right, but only because the boys' father was able to stop him assassinating them."

"Oh," she said, quietly. "I understand."

"Now," Balin said, growing very serious. "What did you forsee that you decided to join our rather risky quest?"

She spoke in a whisper, not only because what she said was so horrible, so unthinkable, but because a human was not supposed to be speaking Khuzdul: " _ **Uzbad Dain u Erebo** **r**._ You know what that means, and so do I. I heard it in a vision, and I know if I don't do anything here, it will come true."

Balin paused for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before simply saying, "You know I have to tell Thorin about this."

She nodded, unable to speak.

"But whatever you do," he continued, voice pleading, rather than threatening, "Please, don't tell Fíli and Kíli about this. They'd panic."

She nodded again. Just as Balin turned to leave, she grabbed his arm. "One last thing you must know," she said, eyes wide and full of fear.

"Neither Smaug nor Azog are dead."


	9. A Completely Expected Journey

Chapter 9

Balin told her it was for the best (at least for the moment) that she not tell anyone that the Dragon and the Durin's ancestral enemy were not, as of yet, dead. He went around to all the other Dwarves, made sure that they were all packed and ready to go, and then bid them all a good night's rest. Before long, Fíli and Kíli followed him to one of Bag End's guest bedrooms, followed by Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Oin and Gloin (really, it was amazing how they all packed into one room) leaving Dwalin, Thorin, Ori, Dori, Nori and Gandalf to sleep in Bilbo's living room.

Revan wandered around awhile, quiet in bare feet in Bilbo's smial, making sure that everything was in order for their departure the next morning. She made sure to grab Bilbo's handkerchiefs and his nice travelling coat, along with all of her money purses, oilcloths she had purchased the day before, and accoutrements necessary for the upcoming journey before settling herself down for a nice, long sleep herself.

She woke early in the morning to many of the party stumbling around with their respective hangovers. She herself wasn't in too poor a state, having drunk the bare minimum to not be so… bothered by the Hobbit's unorthodox company. She exited her room, carrying her packs, setting them down loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Right." she said, in an authoritative tone of voice. "If we're to make good time to the Mountain by winter, we'd better set off now. It'll take us a good day to a day and a half of steady going to get to Bree, and much further than that to the Mountain."

"And what do you expect to do about that, lass?" growled Dwalin, having drunk the heaviest out of the Dwarves.

"She expects, Master Dwarf, to be to the Mountain before winter, if you hadn't heard." grumbled the Wizard, not quite hungover, but still quite tender. "Revan, if you would give us a moment to compose ourselves, then we shall be well on our merry way."

"So much for your Hobbit, Gandalf," Thorin grumbled, putting on his fur coat. He had drunk even less than Revan, hardly half a glass of wine, and seemed to be doing well for it.

"I wager ten ducats that he won't come," barked out Dwalin.

This, of course, started the round of betting that even Gandalf and Revan joined, betting of course, in favour of the still-sleeping Hobbit.

* * *

Hours later, she and the company were well on their way when she heard the panicked cry of the Hobbit. Without turning, without hesitation, she pulled her horse to a stop just as the rest of the company did.

"I signed it," he hollered, handing over the contract to Balin.

"Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield," Balin greeted, to which a few of the dwarves limply applauded.

Thorin, unimpressed growled out a simple, "Give him a pony."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I'm sure I can keep up on foot. I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I even got as far as Frogmorton once-" he yelped as Fíli and Kíli hoisted him up onto a horse.

Bilbo, looking very uncomfortable on his new pony turned to look at Revan, who shrugged. Suddenly, Oin called out, "Come on, Nori! Pay up!"

Many of the dwarves began tossing about coin purses, to which Bilbo asked Revan and Gandalf, "What's that about?"

"Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you'd turn up. Most of them bet that you wouldn't," Gandalf answered.

"And what did you think?" Bilbo asked the pair.

"Well…" the two said in unison, after which Gandalf caught a bag of money.

"My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second," the Wizard answered.

Another bag, larger than Gandalf's was tossed in Revan's direction with a grumble. She leaned over to Bilbo, speaking in a loud whisper - "I bet them all that you'd not only join us, but before we even reached Eriador."

It wasn't long after they had resumed walking that Bilbo began sneezing. "Oh, all this horse hair. I'm having a reaction." He searched his pockets for - something - and upon not finding it, Revan slowed her horse before he could call the entire company to a halt, and handed him one of his handkerchiefs out of her satchel.

"I knew you'd forget something, and I have a few other things I grabbed from your Smial. A velvet coat? _Really?_ I mean, what were you thinking?" she chastised, a friendly smile on her face."

Gandalf pulled back himself to talk to the Hobbit and had his own words for him: "You'll have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs and a good many other things, Bilbo Baggins, before we reach our journey's end. You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you; the _world_ is ahead."

A few days afterwards, they were travelling through the forests of Eriador when it began to rain rather heavily, shortly after which Revan passed out the oilcloths she had purchased. Still, Gloin began to complain. "Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?"

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

"Are there any?" asked a curious Hobbit.

"What?" replied Gandalf.

"Other wizards?"

"There are _five_ of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two Blue wizards." he said, then paused. "You know, I've quite forgotten their names."

"Morinehtar and Rómestámo," supplied Revan, trying to be helpful.

"Thank you," said Gandalf.

"And who is the fifth?"

"Well that would be Radagast, the Brown."

Teasingly, Bilbo asked, "Is he a great wizard, or is he… more like you?"

Gandalf, in mock offense, replied, "I think he is a very great wizard in his own way. He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye to the vast forest lands to the east, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

"What concern is it of yours what other wizards are in the world? As of now, they are of no use to us," snarled a certain, very wet Dwarfish prince.

"You would do well, Master Thorin, to be aware of powers in Middle Earth that are greater than you, lest you get on their bad side," Revan said to Thorin's rather broad back.

Thorin, silenced by this, merely hunched his shoulders, grumbling something about witches and fortunetellers, which she happily ignored.

Not long after, the rain decided to stop, and they were able to take off the oilcloths, which many of the dwarves were happy about. Gritting her teeth in some semblance of a smile, she kneed her horse forward until she was riding right next to a grouchy dwarvish prince.

"Yes?" he asked, but she didn't answer, merely keeping his horse even with his. Instead, she pulled her hood back, shook out her hair and paid him little more attention. "If you wish to say something, _witch_ , then say something."

"Well if you're going to be like _that,_ then I won't cast a drying spell on you, and leave you to act like a wet cat," she said, pulling the reins on the horse.

"Wait." he barked. Well, not really barked, his voice was softer than it had and could have been.

"Do you have something to say, Master Oakenshield?" she said, pulling up next to him again.

He paused for a moment, seemingly glowering at his pony's neck. "I apologize for my harsh words. Balin has told me of what you have foreseen. While I do not trust you as of yet, I am willing to consider what you have to say. He told you of my… _difficult…_ history with so-called fortunetellers and seers?"

She nodded, stunned into silence by his apology.

"I have seen your interactions with my friends, and even the Hobbit. You do not seem to be false, or acting with ulterior motive. For now, I will accept your word, but again, if I find you've done something to harm my company, you will be _summarily executed._ "

"Well, that's a little dramatic, but I understand," she sighed, flicking her hand drying his clothes of rainwater. "But there is something you must know; my predictions are not always accurate. I have foreseen _one_ future of many, and Manwë above, I _will_ see you King under the Mountain."


	10. Trolls and Explanations

Chapter 10

"We'll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them," announced Thorin dramatically.

Revan knew those words. She knew this place.

"A farmer and his family used to live here," Gandalf said, somewhat ominously.

Before Thorin could go any further, she walked up to him and quietly said, "Master Oakenshield, there are Trolls hereabouts."

Still not completely trusting in her "abilities," he gave her a discerning look. "Trolls?" Are you certain?"

She quickly motioned Bilbo over, and began talking, basing her evidence on some things she had noticed in the few days of travelling with the Company.

"Master Baggins," she said, turning to the Hobbit. "Do you smell that?"

"I _did,_ actually. It smells rather foul, once you think of it. Why?" he asked, growing somewhat concerned.

"I smell nothing," Thorin began.

"That's totally excusable, but Hobbits have extraordinary senses, even compared to Dwarves and Humans. Balin!" she hollered out to the white-bearded Dwarf, who came tottering over in a hurry.

"Yes lass? Is something wrong?" he asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion and concern.

"You smell trolls?" she asked?

"As a matter of fact, I _do._ Very faint, a few days old, but still near enough to cause trouble."

Thorin paused for a moment, considering. "Very well. What would you have us do instead?"

Gandalf broke in then, having listened to the muffled conversation. "I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley"

"I have told you already, I will not go near that place," the Dwarrow prince said.

Gandalf, getting exasperated responded, "Why not? The elves could help us! We could get food, rest, advice!"

"I do not need their advice."

"We have a map that we cannot read; Lord Elrond will help us."

"Help? A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, and the elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father?" Thorin answered, growing angry.

"You are neither of them. And besides, it was not Lord Elrond who abandoned you at Erebor. That blame lies with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."

Before Thorin could put his foot further in his mouth, Revan placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thorin, walk with me please. We need to talk about something."

Gandalf, flabbergasted at Revan's calmness and even further astonished that the Dwarvish prince, (though reluctantly) did what she asked, went to go help Bilbo with the ponies. Pitching her voice so only the Wizard could hear her words, "Keep an eye on Fili and Kili. The Trolls go after the horses first. You'll find Master Baggins can be rather resourceful in a pinch if he goes after them, but I'd rather not risk endangering the timeline."

After a moment, "Understood, Milady. But what are you going to do?"

She shrugged: "I'm going to change a prince's mind."

* * *

After a few minutes of walking in the woods, Thorin broke the silence. "So what was so important," he stated, rather than asked.

Deciding to just jump into the explanation, she began with stating the bloody obvious. "You are not your grandfather. Nor are you your father."

"This much I know," he said, rather sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes in the darkness, she walked a bit further, trying to compose her thoughts. "Do you remember a ring, your grandfather owned? One he passed on to your father. If I remember correctly, it was given to Durin III, ruler of Khazad-dûm during the second age."

"I do. It disappeared with my father when he led the charge to the Dimrill gate. What of it?"

"Do you know where that ring came from?" she asked, gently.

"It came from the Elves of Ost-In-Edhil, along with the other six," he said sharply.

She shook her head. She would have to work long and hard against his prejudices for her to make this work. "True, it was forged in part by Celebrimbor, but it was also forged by Annatar, who you know by another name."

"Sauron," he replied darkly. "But he died long ago, he was _destroyed!"_

"That is an argument for another time. But, the truth remains, the dark lord of Mordor helped create the rings, and his magic resided in them."

"Your point being?"

"Thrór was a good Dwarf, an upright and shrewd king. But the ring twisted him. There is no strain of madness upon the line of Durin save what was given them by that ring." She turned abruptly, facing him, noting his angry, but curious expression.

"Go on," he said softly.

"Thrór was not driven mad, as many say, but the Ring corrupted him, used him for its own nefarious purposes. He grew greedy, in short," she said, and when he turned away, she grabbed him by the shoulders. "You do not know the full story of the White Gems of Lasgalen, your Serene Highness. It is true that the elves refused to pay the price, but what you do not know is that in his fits of greed, Thrór raised the price on the gems' workmanship, breaking their bargain. Furthermore, what _Thrór_ did not know is that the gems were a remembrance of Thranduil's departed wife who perished at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar."

"What is the wife of the Elvenking to me?" he snarled, pushing her hands from his shoulders.

"I do not say that what Thranduil did was right, he was a coward and should be held accountable for what he did. But my _entire point_ is that _you_ are not your father, _nor are you your grandfather,_ and furthermore, _Thranduil_ is not _Elrond!"_ It was at that point, she realized she was shouting right into an astonished Dwarf's face, and her eyes grew wide. She stumbled backward, falling to the ground, fearing the prince's legendary temper.

Instead, he surprised her in return by kindly helping her up. Still wary, she waited for his response. Instead of speaking though, he placed his hand on her back and began the walk toward camp. They had just reached the halfway point when they tried to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry for what I-" she began.

"We will try things-" he started.

They both laughed uncomfortably. She let him begin first.

"We will try things your way. I admit there were things I did not know, and I do not know _how_ you know, and yet you know them."

It took a stunned moment for her to squeak out a stunned, "Thank you."

He continued, "However, we will only stay in the Hidden Valley for as short a time as possible. I should not have to warn you that the elves will not give us their blessing for our quest."

She grinned knowingly at him. "Oh? I wager a sack of silvers that they _will,_ and I haven't even foreseen that."

He smiled wanly back at her, and she cursed herself for reminding him of her uncanniness.

* * *

All of this was forgotten when they returned and found the camp empty of dwarves, hobbits _or_ wizards, yet still full of their supplies.

She cursed herself again and again for a fool.

"Where are they?" Thorin asked, an edge of fear in his voice.

She picked up her bow and strung it, grabbing her quiver and heading in the direction of faint firelight.

"Trolls."

* * *

"Don't bother _cooking_ them. Let's just _sit_ on them and squash them into jelly!" squealed Tom.

"They should be _sauteed,_ and grilled with a _sprinkle_ of sage," contradicted Bert.

"Well that _does_ sound quite nice," Tom agreed.

Revan and Thorin heard all of this from their position behind a rather large stone. She had had to hold him back from charging in there blindly, but once she had explained her plan to him, he had grudgingly agreed. She let the scene play out as it had, Gandalf wisely understanding that Bilbo was playing for time, and let the dawn creep up, the sun brightening the sky.

She left Thorin behind the rock, and climbed up on the rock. She had grabbed Gandalf's staff from where it had lain hidden, climbed up on the rock, and just as the morning sun crested the horizon behind her, shouted "The dawn will take you _all!"_

"Who's that?"

"No idea."

"Can we eat 'im too?"

She slammed Gandalf's staff (and her magic) down onto the rock, jumping out of the way of the split and sunlight poured into the clearing. The Trolls turned to stone, screaming and howling in pain, leading to the Dwarves cheering.

"OI! Get yer foot out of my back!" Dwalin hollered.

* * *

She gladly handed the staff to Gandalf, having exhausted herself with the powerful magics. At his questioning look, she nodded, smiling tiredly. "We make for the valley as soon as we find the troll hoard."

Thorin and Bilbo walked up to her, and Gandalf straightened, asking "Where did you go?"

Before Thorin could answer, she answered enigmatically, "To look ahead."

Gandalf smiled and asked, "What brought you back?"

"Looking behind."

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Thoring asked.

"Oh, not for an age. Not since a darker power ruled these lands. In any case, they could not have moved in daylight…" Gandalf began, waiting for Thorin to put it together.

"There must be a cave nearby."

She sat at the camp, knowing how this would play out and making breakfast, but not before telling Bilbo, "Master Baggins, anything that they bring up out of that hoard, we will need one more sack of gold. Do not tell anyone I told you this."

"I don't understand?"

"You'll understand in time."

Right now, all she had to worry about was how in the _hell_ she was going to season breakfast. All she had was a heavy pan, some bird's eggs, and a few strips of bacon that she had made and skinned herself.

"Scrambled eggs and bacon it is," she said.

She made plenty for each of the dwarves and a double portion for Bilbo, saving it for his Second Breakfast. She even made some for Radagast, thinking he'd be hungry, and then gathered as much of everyone's things as she could and headed, once again, in the direction of shouting.


	11. Orcs and a Homecoming

**_Sindarin/Elvish_ **

_** Black Speech/Orcish ** _

**Khuzdul**

* * *

Chapter 11

" _Thieves! Fire! Murder!"_ Revan heard through the trees as she rushed towards the troll cave. She arrived just in time for Gandalf to greet the other wizard warmly, though troubled at Radagast's grave expression.

* * *

Revan left Gandalf and Radagast to go talk away from the group, and began portioning out the food she had made. After a long sleepless night, she was ready to collapse, but the thankful look on Fili and Kili's face, not to mention _Bombur's_ was enough to stave off tiredness for now. She spoke little, knowing the gravity of the conversation going on behind her.

Far off in the distance, she heard the howling. "Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out there?" asked the concerned Hobbit.

"Wolf? No, that is not a wolf," Fili answered. The howling warg leapt out of the greenery and into the middle of the company. Revan had drawn her swords- glowing purple and red with the orcs nearby- and was fully prepared to kill it when Thorin drove his new sword into the monster's neck. Hearing the padding of feet behind her, she saw Kili nock an arrow and kill another with the help of a neat hammer blow from Dwalin.

"Warg scouts! Which means an Orc pack is not far behind." shouted the Dwarvish prince.

Turning away from Radagast, Gandalf pocketed the small cloth bundle and turned towards Thorin, a dark expression on his face. "Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" he demanded.

"No one!" answered Thorin.

" _Who did you tell?"_

"No one, I _swear._ What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted!"

Dwalin broke in. "We have to get out of here."

Gloin crested the hill, shouting, "We can't! We've no ponies, they've bolted!"

"I'll draw them off," Radagast said, helpfully.

"These are Gundabad Wargs, they will outrun you!"

"These are _Rhosgobel rabbits!_ I'd like to see them try," Radagast answered, grinning.

* * *

Many minutes later, they found themselves out on the plains, being hunted by Yazneg the orc. Gandalf had disappeared, and she was trying to herd a group of Dwarves into the cavern-

"We're surrounded," shouted Fili. Kili began rapid-firing arrows at an impressive rate.

"Where's Gandalf?" Kili shouted.

"Has he abandoned us?" growled Dwalin.

Yazneg closed in upon his Warg. Revan and Thorin faced him, their swords glowing. "Hold your ground!" Thorin bellowed. The dwarves and Revan circled up, weapons raised.

Startling a dozen years off of Revan's life, Gandalf popped out of the ground, shouting, "This way you fools!"

"All of you, go, go!" shouted Thorin, blindly trusting the Wizard. All of them ran towards the entrance, sliding underground. "Kili!" he shouted at his nephew, who had stayed out to shoot at the Wargs. The young dwarf prince leapt into the cavern, and Thorin shoved Revan into the cave following close behind.

Not long after, one of the orcs rolled, dead, into the cavern. Thorin plucked the arrow out of his head, examining it.

"Elves." He dropped it in disgust.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we followit or no?" shouted Dwalin back to the company.

"Follow it, of course!" Fili shouted forward.

"I think that would be wise." Gandalf said.

* * *

Revan held to the back, ushering the Dwarf prince forward. She took up the rear, knowing what the Hobbit and the Wizard were saying, but unable to hear them.

"There is light ahead!" Dwalin shouted.

* * *

She was home. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away, not wanting the Dwarves to see. They all stood upon the ridge.

"The Valley of Imladris. In the Common Tongue, it's known by another name." Gandalf introduced, gesturing to the golden sunlit valley.

"Rivendell," Bilbo said, amazed, Revan nodding.

"Here lies the last homely house east of the Sea," Gandalf said.

Thorin spun around and glared at the Wizard. "Though I agreed to this, do _not_ expect me to mince and curtsy with our enemies."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself." Gandalf replied shortly.

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they won't. But we have questions that need to be answered, and a daughter to reunite with her father. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the _talking_ to _me_."

Revan turned slowly to Gandalf, eyes wide with shock and fury. How _dare_ he just casually drop that information? Of course, it was not long before the Dwarves would have known anyways, but she had wanted to break that information more… gently!

They made their way down to the valley, and thankfully many of the company hadn't put it together yet. Thorin and Balin, on the other hand, _had_ put it together, though their reactions were much different. Thorin had stiffened, glanced once at her and refused even to look at her. Balin, on the other hand, had dropped back to walk beside her. He looked up at her, the question obvious on his face. She smiled sadly at him and nodded.

"Ah. Well that's that, then." he said simply. "Don't worry lass, he'll come 'round"

* * *

As the company entered the main courtyard, Lindir walked down the flight of stairs, giving Gandalf and Revan a courteous, even friendly smile.

"Mithrandir, Revan," he said simply.

"Ah, Lindir!" Gandalf greeted. Revan stayed back, uneasy and nauseated with worry as the Dwarves began to murmur distrustfully.

" _ **We heard you had crossed into the valley,** "_ Lindir said in Elvish.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," Gandalf replied in Common.

Taking the hint, Lindir replied in English, "My lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here? Where is he?" Gandalf asked, concerned.

Nasal, blaring horns rang out across the vale. The company spun around, with the Dwarves raising their weapons. Revan put her hand on Balin's shoulder, easing him, though she could tell that he was on edge. The Elvish riders circled around the Dwarves, coming to a halt.

Her father separated himself neatly from the riders. "Gandalf," he said simply, looking for Revan. Finding her next to Balin, he shot her a questioning glance. She shrugged and gave him a " _what-can-you-do"_ look to let him know that the secret had been revealed already. He gave her a simple nod in return, turning back towards Gandalf.

"Lord Elrond!" the wizard in question said. " ** _My Friend! Where have you been?"_**

**" _We've been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the south. We slew a number near the hidden pass."_**

He dismounted gracefully, embracing Gandalf, then tended to his armor. "Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or _someone_ has drawn them near."

Stepping through the Company, she thought, _to hell with it all_ and hugged her father, just as Gandalf said, "That may have been us."

Elrond hugged her back, whispering, **" _It is good to have you back, little one. We must talk later."_**

"Of course, _adar,_ " she replied, stepping back. Thorin stepped forward, not sparing a glance for Revan.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain." Elrond greeted warmly.

"I do not believe we have met," the dwarf prince said curtly.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain."

"Indeed? He made no mention of you."

Her father ignored this insult, and instead, shouted, **" _Randisenc dadwenna bar! Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests."_**

"What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" Gloin asked, raising his weapons along with the rest of the company.

"No, master Gloin, he's offering you _food!"_ the wizard said, sternly.

"Well in that case, lead on."

* * *

Revan split apart from the Dwarves, much to Bilbo's dismay, though it was probably for the best. She entered the court with Elrond and Gandalf, walking past the Elvish harpist.

"Kind of you to invite us. I'm not really dressed for dinner," the Wizard said graciously.

"Well, you never are," Elrond answered.

The three of them chuckled and sat down, Elrond at the head, Gandalf to his left and Revan to his right, with Bilbo off to her right and Thorin uncomfortably across from her. They ate, drank, and made conversation until Gandalf brought up the fight with the Trolls, and their loot.

"I have quite some experience with blades," he said to Thorin. "May I see yours?" he asked.

Thorin, at Balin's urging, handed his sword to Elrond. "This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well." Thorin accepted Orcrist back with a simple nod.

Gandalf handed his to Elrond, who slid the blade several inches out of its sheath. "And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age." Returning Glamdring to Gandalf, Elrond said, "And how did you say you came by these?"

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs."

"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

Abruptly, Thorin arose from his seat. "Excuse me," he said.

* * *

Translations:

_**"Randisenc dadwenna bar!"** \- Our Wanderer has returned home!_


	12. Memories

Languages:

_Sindarin_

_**Khudzul** _

* * *

Chapter 12

After Thorin's brief interruption to Dinner, it proceeded in much a normal fashion, but rather… subdued, especially on the Dwarves side. Bilbo was in his element; Hobbits are rather used to formal dinners, and was talking fluently in guest-ese with the rest of the Elves. Revan took the opportunity to ask after Arwen, Estel, and many of her other friends she had missed in the last year. Arwen herself was conspicuously absent from the dinner, and so she was concerned, but her father merely said that she was off cavorting with Estel.

After the dinner, Elrond disappeared, but she knew he would make time for her. Instead, she went around to the different dwarves who would talk to her, (mostly Balin and Gloin) and let them ask their questions.

"So I judge by the display you put on and Gandalf's words, the Elf-lord is your father?" the white-bearded dwarf asked.

"Adopted father, actually," she answered.

Dwalin, insufferable and angry, asked, "Aye? How did a lass like you get adopted by one of _his_ ilk?"

Balin gave his younger brother a chastising look, and then gave Revan a look, the same question (though phrased nicer) was evident in his eyes.

"I was found in the woods not too far from here," she said, trying to tell as much of the truth as possible. "A party of elves saw me near the woods of Rivendell. I had been separated from everyone I knew, I was alone, and it was nearing winter." She trailed off, remembering those few early months where she slowly realized that she would never see anyone she had known from her previous life.

"The Elves took me in and gave me a home. To keep all of… everything… away, I threw myself into training. Elrond, Tadion and Maethion all saw potential in me in different ways. Maethion taught me archery, Tadion swordfighting, and Elrond taught me how to do a little magic," she said, severely understating her magical abilities. "But it still wasn't enough."

She was dimly aware that there were more presences in the room, but was swamped by memories of endless fatigue and depression. She fought to keep her voice audible, but it still cracked. "Slowly, I lapsed. I fought less often, I refused to show up for lessons, until Elrond realized there was something larger going on. I had slept through most of a day, had hardly gone outside, and hadn't eaten for more than a day.

"He sort of… barged into my room. Not loudly, mind you, he's not that brash or rude, but he came in, and pulled the curtains back, then sat down by my side. He explained his childhood in Beleriand, then his capture by the Sons of Fëanor. He and his brother, Elros were held captive by Maglor, for many years. It took a very long time, but eventually Maglor began to love them as his own, and they loved him in return. He and Elros forgave Maglor eventually, but they never forgot that Maglor and his brothers were the kinslaying _**ushnâkh**_ that killed their parents in the first place."

She stopped, realizing she'd slipped into Khuzdul, but she heard a soft voice behind her say, "You may as well let them hear the rest."

She nodded, not needing to look behind her to see her two brothers. "He cheered me up, and offered me a place in his own home. I accepted, and that's how I became Revan _Athaliel-Idril_ , Revan the 'welcomed stranger' of Rivendell."

Her voice tapered off at the end, and she felt hands on her shoulders. She crossed her arms over her chest and placed her hands atop theirs, knowing it was her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. She looked around, and realized that more than half the company was now in the room, _including_ a certain recalcitrant prince. She sniffled, not realizing she'd been crying, and wiped away her tears.

Balin placed a hand on her knee, a gentle, concerned look on his face. "We're glad to have you with us, lass," to which, surprisingly, Dwalin nodded his assent. Expectedly, though, Thorin had something to say.

"She only brought us here so her father could waylay us on our path."

"OH! Sod it all you bloody prince!" she said, standing. "At what point have I done _anything_ but help you? No, stop it!" she said to her brothers who were trying to hustle her out the door. "You and I? We aren't done. I'm coming with you to the bloody mountain, I'm going to save you all from that _stupid dragon sickness_ , get you the _Arkenstone,_ save you _again_ from Azog, and then, well, you'll bloody see what happens _next,_ won't you, cause you'll be _alive to see it!"_

She realized that she was shouting now, and many of the dwarves were quite pale. Well, she figured, _in for a penny, in for a pound,_ and grabbing her brothers shoulders, turned to Thorin, and said, "And if you don't like it, you can _get stuffed!_ "

* * *

"Really, _Gwathel ,_ it isn't good to irritate royalty, even if they aren't royalty yet. _Ada'_ s going to be mad with you," Elrohir told her as she speed-walked down the hallway.

Elladan, of course, countered with, "Yeah, but did you see his face?" to which she tried _so hard_ to not crack a smile.

She could hear the smile in Elrohir's voice as well, when he said, "Of course I did! He was _purple!_ You got him _really_ mad, _Sicilenin ,_ nice job!"

Elladan now again, countered with, "Don't encourage her, Elrohir." He looked like he was about to say more, but they had reached their fathers' rooms, and she turned to them, and they got the point, leaving.

She hesitated before knocking on the door. " _You may enter,"_ her father said, and she did. She flung herself into his arms, letting her tears flow openly, now.

"Now now, _Anelen , _what have you done this time?" he teased."

"Oh, _Ada,_ He's just _impossible!"_ she sobbed in frustration.

"The prince?" he said, knitting his eyebrows.

" _Mithrandir!_ I was going to let them all know when _I_ wanted, break the news to Thorin gently, I had just made progress with him, _and then he bloodly lets the cat out of the bag!"_

" _Language, Anelen."_ he said, chastising her. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Oh I'm _sure_ he did. But he made a mess of things for _me!_ Now Thorin hates me, the company distrusts me, well, except for dear old Balin, but he's a sweetheart, and I'm certain they don't want me to keep going on the adventure."

"Our dear Wizard does seem to have made a mess of things," he said blandly, rubbing her back, and she got the point. This too shall pass, it wasn't that big a deal. Nothing she couldn't walk back from.

She hugged him tightly, and said "Well, if I want to head out with them in a few days, I need to start gaining their trust again. It's all your fault, really," she teased, letting him go.

"Mine? Oh really?" he said, smiling.

"Yeah. If I wasn't related to you they would've been _fine_ with me going with them."

"Oh, certainly, it wasn't as if you had anything to do with it, locking yourself in your rooms for a week, and refusing to eat."

"Oh, I'll find a way to blame you for that someday. Changing the subject completely," she said, "How good is your ancient Dwarvish?"

"My _what?"_

* * *

_Translations:_

_**ushnâkh-**_ Traitors

 _Anelen_ \- My Daughter

 _Gwathel-_ Sister

 _Sicilenin -_ Little Dagger

 _Athaliel-Idril- _Welcomed/Beloved Stranger/Guest


	13. A Map and the White Council

**AN: Sunday update! If ya review, add a happy birthday to my baby brother who turns 17 on Thursday, yayyy! Hope ya like this, I've been trying to make them longer and longer, so I hope you like it. Please, if you _do_ like it, review so I know either what I'm doing right, or doing horrendously wrong.**

* * *

Languages:

_Sindarin_

_**Khudzul** _

* * *

Chapter 13

" _Our business is no concern of Elves,"_ Thorin snarled.

"For goodness' sake, Thorin, _show him the map."_ Gandalf chastised back.

"It is the legacy of my people; it is mine to protect, as are its secrets," Thorin replied, looking distrustfully at Elrond, and refusing to even look at Revan.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

Thorin, reluctantly, drew the map out of the folds of his coat, looking between Gandalf and Elrond. Eventually, though, he gave in and handed the map to Elrond.

"Erebor," Elrond remarked, looking at Revan, who tried to keep a blank face. "What is your interest in this map?"

Before Thorin could snark at Elrond, or anything at all really, Gandalf interrupted, choosing to finally keep _someone's_ secrets, or at least the illusion of someone's secrets, and replied with, "It's mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?"

Her father opened up the map and walked over to the moonlight. He squinted, then, in wonderment, read out the text of the map. " _Cirth Ithil."_

"Moon Runes? Of course; an easy thing to miss."

"Well in this case, that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon on the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."

Growing interested, Thorin leaned in. "Can you read them?"

Her father nodded, walking out of the dark room without saying another word. Gandalf followed, and soon the rest of the company got the hint. She however, stayed back toward the back, where she wished to remain unnoticed. She knew that the company still wasn't fond of her, but they were warming up to her. Either way, she knew what was going to happen next, and was anxious for the months ahead.

Eventually, they got to the glowing plinth between the waterfalls, and her father began to speak. "These runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines upon us tonight." He looked over, searching to Revan, and she shrugged, trying to say, " _I didn't have anything to do with that"_ with her body language. He seemed to get the message, his eyebrows raising up.

He turned back to the map, saying, "Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo asked.

"It is the start of the Dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together," Gandalf explained.

"This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin's day will soon be upon us," Thorin grumbled.

"We still have time," Balin comforted.

"Time? For what?" the Hobbit asked.

"To find the entrance. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened," Balin answered.

"So this is your purpose, to enter the Mountain?" her father asked, knowing the answer.

"What of it?" Thorin snarled, getting defensive.

"I cannot say it will not be dangerous," Elrond advised.

Gandalf, not expecting this answer, asked, "So you agree with this quest?"

"I believe you have the right intentions, but you are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth."

* * *

Revan walked behind the Wizard and her father, having already given the centuries-old wizard a tongue-lashing for just casually letting her secret slip, during which her father did his best not to smirk, smile or laugh.

Of course, now the topic had changed to more serious matters.

" _Of course_ I was going to tell you, I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I am doing." Gandalf defended.

"Do you? That dragon has slept for sixty years! What will happen if your plan should fail, if you wake that beast? What would happen to my daughter then?"

"What if we _succeed?_ If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened."

"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf."

Revan continued to ruminate on the next few months, and her brows knit as she tried to figure out how to ensure a happier ending, while only knowing one possible version of the future. She hoped she would be able to fix things, but as these last few days had proved, things were _very_ capable of getting out of her control.

"Have you forgotten? A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall? Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle Earth."

She decided to interrupt her father. "Do you remember what I told you? There is no strain of madness in that family."

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked.

"The _ring,_ dummkopf," she replied. It was always fun to tease, insult or denigrate the various denizens of Middle-Earth in a language nobody spoke but her.

They strode out onto the pavilion, where she knew most of the White Council was waiting nearby. "Sauron's ring, given to the line of Durin. His power has grown stronger over the years, and he began to influence the line of Durin. Now, since that ring was lost when Thrain was, I can guarantee that the line of Durin will no longer succumb to that madness."

"Yes? And what of Dragon Sickness?"

"I can handle that," she replied confidently, lying through her teeth. She had ideas, possible spells, enchantments, but no real plan to handle Dragon Sickness."

"Either way, with or without our help, these dwarves will march on the mountain. They are determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he's answerable to anyone. Nor for that matter am I," the Wizard said, growing defensive.

"It is not me you must answer to," Elrond said mysteriously.

* * *

Her adopted grandmother stepped onto the pavilion, backlit by the moonlight. She opened her arms, and Revan strode over, giving her grandmother a fond hug.

_[Do you wish to talk later?]_ Galadriel asked by way of her telepathy.

_[There may not be enough time,]_ she answered.

"Lady Galadriel," Gandalf half-exclaimed in surprise.

"Mithrandir," she replied. " _It has been a long time."_

" _Age may have changed me, but not so the Lady of Lorien,"_ Gandalf greeted. "I had no idea Lord Elrond had sent for you," he said, concerned.

And then a voice spoke, a voice that chilled her to the bone. A voice she had not ever heard outside of film, one that she had dreaded.

"He didn't. I did."

Revan squeezed her grandmother's arm, nervous and hoping that Saruman wouldn't notice.

Gandalf bowed to the traitorous head of his order. "Saruman," he greeted.

"You've been busy of late, my friend."

* * *

Dawn broke over the group as they sat at a marble table. Perhaps subconsciously, perhaps as a matter of direct decision, Galadriel and Elrond had decided to seat Revan between them and she thanked them for the gesture of protection.

"Tell me, Gandalf. Did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?" the White Wizard asked.

"Unnoticed? No, I'm simply doing what I feel to be right," Gandalf defended.

"The dragon has long been on your mind," her grandmother said.

"It is true, my lady. Smaug owes allegiance to no one. But if he should side with the enemy, a dragon could be used to terrible effect."

As the rest of the group continued in conversation, Revan's pocket buzzed. Silently, she pulled it out to find a text from Eru.

ERU: Be discreet, but ask about the Palantír. Suggest to him that you know what and where his is and where his true allegiances lie. But be discreet! You'll know what to do.

She sighed, and rejoined the conversation.

"They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who can summon the dead," Gandalf said.

"That's absurd. No such power exists in this world. This Necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man. A Conjurer dabbling in black magic."

"There may be one easy way to tell," Revan spoke up, barely loud enough for Saruman to hear.

Rolling right over her words, Saruman finally acknowledged her presence. "And who is this _girl?_ Certainly, she possesses power and a natural affinity for magic, but that does not explain her presence _here_ or with your so-called company."

Raising her hand, Galadriel brought Saruman's accusations to a halt. "Please, _Siniel,_ if you would," she said to Revan, making sure Saruman clearly heard the Sindarin word for Granddaughter.

"Many thanks, _Maufwyn,_ " she replied, still quiet. "As I said, there is one way we could truly tell if something dark is at work upon _Dol Guldur._ "

"Oh? Do tell," Saruman said, barely restraining his derisive tone.

"A Palantír," she murmured, and could practically feel the temperature of the pavilion drop, even in the midsummer dawn.

"No such creations exist," Saruman defended. "They were all _destroyed_."

"I do not believe that is true," she said. "In fact, I know of at least two, one in _Minas Ithil,_ now known as _Minas Morgul,_ and one, I believe, in the heart of _Isengard,_ in the very tower of _Orthanc,_ where you took up residence," she said, her voice growing louder and sharper. "Would it not be possible to see into the heart of _Dol Guldur,_ especially if this were a mere mortal sorcerer? Or do you fear that it is something worse?"

"Hold your tongue!" the White Wizard shouted, making the hair on Revan's neck stand up, and she felt her family stiffen. "There are no more Palantír, and there certainly is not one in my _home!"_

"Head of the council or no," her father said, "You would be wise to keep a civil tone when speaking to my daughter." She had to blink away tears at how quickly he came to her defense. "It is well-known that the Palantír cannot be destroyed."

"What is it that you fear?" Galadriel asked.

"Indeed," Gandalf said, trying to steer the conversation back. "Radagast has seen -"

"Radagast? Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow," Sauron interrupted, attempting to steer the conversation away from _Dol Guldur._

She felt Galadriel stiffen, and saw Gandalf begin to remove the package from Radagast from his robes.

"What is that?" her father asked, feeling the hatred and dark magic radiating off of the package.

"A relic of _Mordor,_ " Galadriel said in horror.

Her father reached toward the package, and unwrapped the blade. "A Morgul blade."

"Made for the Witch-king of Angmar and buried with him. When Angmar fell, men of the north took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the High Fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rock they buried them, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light."

"That is not possible. A powerful spell lies upon those tombs; they cannot be opened."

"What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?" Saruman asked, growing nervous.

She had been excluded from the conversation once again. She excused herself to her father and Grandfather, and once she was out of sight, began sprinting for her rooms. She knew the company had already left, but she had to get changed out of this _stupid_ gown and into her travelling outfit, and then catch up with the rest of the group.

* * *

Translations:

_Siniel- Granddaughter_

_Maufwyn- Grandmother_


	14. The Long and Winding Road

**AN: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the US, also happy birthday to my baby brother. Nice to have y'all here, and since I'm stuck here stateside for now, I got the day off from my job. So, therefore, I wrote a chapter. Now don't you worry your pretty little heads, I'm still going to post a chapter on Sunday if I can, but for now, enjoy this turkey-day treat!**

* * *

Languages:

_Sindarin_

**Khuzdul**

_** Black ** ** Speech ** _

* * *

Chapter 14

"Balin, you know these paths. Lead on," Revan heard the Prince say down the gulley. "Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up."

Revan hung back all through Eriador, trying to keep the company safe, and also trying to figure out how to get back in Thorin's good graces. Eventually, though, they reached the Misty Mountains, and began the treacherous climb. It was… easier _and_ harder to keep herself hidden from the company. Certainly there were plenty of different ridges to hide behind, but each of the caves they stayed in each night was much too far from another, so she faced the difficult choice of sleeping outside the cave, or within sight. She was fairly certain that Bilbo had sighted her anyways, but since none of the dwarves had chased her off of the mountain or come to invite her to join the group, she assumed he hadn't told.

This was a crucial time, she knew. Each night, driven to distraction by the wind howling and the freezing temperatures, she pored over the scene in the movie (by way of her phone) where the stone giants fought, and the company entered the cave of the Goblins, trying to gauge how far she had to go, how close she should be, or even how much time she had left to come up with a plan to persuade Thorin of her trustworthiness.

"Then again," she muttered to herself one day, breath misting in the mountain air, "the road to Hell is paved with good intentions." She didn't have long. By her reckoning, the Goblin caves were on the eastern side of the mountain range, quite near the exit, and they had crossed the halfway point some time ago.

Then it started to rain.

Then the ground came out from underneath her.

* * *

She yelped as the stone under her feet pitched underneath her, throwing her to the ground. She heard similar shouts of alarm from the company as they were bombarded by rock pieces from a thrown boulder.

Summoning quite near the last of her strength, she sent out a protective field centered on the Hobbit that would protect them from the worst of the rubble and hoped it would last. She scrabbled to her feet and tried to make her way to the company.

"This is no thunder storm! It's a thunder battle! Look!" She had dreaded those words. She saw the stone giant. She saw it pull itself free from the mountain and rip a chunk off the top of the mountain.

"Well, Bless me! The legends are true! Giants; Stone Giants!"

"Yeah, we _know,_ Fili" she grumbled as she finally gained traction on the slippery rock.

She missed most of the conversation as she tackled Thorin to the ground to save him from a rather _large_ stone fragment that she didn't remember from the movie. "Get everyone you can into that cave," she demanded, just as the second stone giant headbutted the third to emerge from the rock face. "And _don't lose the Hobbit!"_ she hissed as expressions of shock, surprise, loathing, and peculiarly… elation? Tried to occupy his face at the same time.

Drawing from deeper reserves than she knew she had (and boy oh boy was she going to regret not having this energy later, she knew) she set a blast of pure concussive force at the third giant, and smiled with grim satisfaction as its headless body fell backwards to rejoin the mountain from whence it had came.

She scanned the rest of the ravine for the company, and nearly missed Thorin ushering the bewildered Hobbit into the cave. She rushed over as he turned to go in, and paused at the outside - nothing of note. No wizards, no goblin scouts, and the second stone giant had resumed its slumber in the cliff face. From behind her, echoing through the darkness she heard Dwalin's Scottish-ish lilt say "It looks safe enough."

"Search to the back; caves in mountains are seldom unoccupied," ordered the Prince.

Finally, she turned back to rejoin the company, at first with hesitance, then when she rounded a corner and saw Balin wave her over, with much less trepidation. As Gloin and Thorin argued over whether or not to start a fire, Balin asked, "You followed us all the way here? After all he said to you?"

She smiled at dear old Balin, saying, "Of course. Someone's got to keep you all in line."

Her smile vanished then, as the Dwarvish prince finally turned to her, her face a mask of calm. "So. You've rejoined us."

"Balin," she said, keeping her eyes on Thorin, "I do believe that the prince resents my presence here. And after I was so kind as to _save him from a rock_." She spoke now to Thorin, Balin growing pale and receeding. "I noticed your little stunt at Rivendelll. I mean, of course, it was hard not to, considering you just _left without a word._ "

"We told the Wizard where we were going. How did _you-"_ he cut off then, an unreadable expression crossing his face. "Seer. Of course."

"You're not going to get rid of me _that_ way, Your Less-Than-Serene Highness," she said, "And you're certainly not going to get rid of my help."

"What _help_ could a **misbegotten, elf-daughter foundling** give us? You should have never returned!" he snarled in return.

 **"** **You want to speak the safe-secret of the Dwarves?"** she said, knowing all of the languages of Middle-Earth courtesy of her brief period of not-aliveness. "Because we can do that," she snipped, returning to Common.

His expression turned to one of horror. Not only was Khuzdul supposed to be the secret language of the Dwarves, she knew her intonation, inflection, accent, _everything_ had been perfect. However, she decided to go the other way. "That's right. I've understood _every_ nasty little thing that you and the company have said about both _me_ and Bilbo. Thorin Oakenshield, I ought to wash your mouth out with _soap,_ the filthy things you alone have said." Her voice had reached shouting levels now, and some dim part of her realized that the rest of the company had frozen in place and were watching the two. " _What reason_ have you to doubt me? After all this time? We've been travelling together for _weeks,_ if I wanted to kill you and take your fortune I would have done it back in _Hobbiton_ you _bloody idiot!_ Do you know what I've given up? For this company? For _you?!"_

That same dim part of her realized that that last part had not only been unnecessary, but had taken on less of a yell-like and more of a screech-like tone. " _Manwë above, "_ she cried to the roof of the cave, speaking directly to Eru, now. " _You couldn't have sent someone with me? Glorfindel? My brothers would gladly have gone."_

Energy spent, she slumped back, sat on a conveniently placed stone, brought her knees to her chest and _cried._ Five years ago, she had dreamt of being the 'saviour of Middle-Earth,' conveniently forgetting how hellish that this place was. She thought that her chance at another life had been just that: a chance at another life. She tried, she really had, she'd made it all the way to Hobbiton, she'd learned how to fight, but she hadn't learned how to deal with Valar-damned stubborn princes! She sniffed, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible, and felt a warm presence at her side, and saw a hand offering a handkerchief.

"Thanks, Bilbo, you can keep your handkerchief," she said, not raising her head.

"Correct intentions, wrong bearer, lass," Dwalin's voice spoke up from the other side of her. Immediately, she raised her head. Dwalin, travel-worn and fatigued sat beside her. On the other side of _him_ stood Fili and Kili, and finally, Bilbo. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about him, Revan," Balin said as she turned to face him. "He'll come 'round. And you should have heard him on the way up, _you_ were all he could talk about," he chuckled, in that sadness-evaporating way he had, and she smiled back at him, then frowned.

"No doubt he had nothing _good_ to say about me," she sighed.

"No, but you're missing the point," Kili said, kneeling in front of her. Really, half the company was around her, this was getting quite ridiculous! "He was talking about you _the entire way._ You were on his mind _constantly."_

"Oh," she said, in a small voice, not knowing how to feel. "Is that a good thing?" she asked.

"Only time will tell," Balin replied. "For now, rest. You're here with us, that's all that matters."

"Not quite," she said. "Sleep with your weapons nearby. Keep your wits about you. I have a bad feeling about this place," she said, then explained (privately to Balin) the existence of the Goblins, and that it was of the _utmost importance_ that they be captured by the goblins. At first he looked at her in askance, until she reassured him that she was no bounty hunter, nor was she an assassin sent by the Goblins to kill them all.

She hated to have to do it, but Bilbo _had_ to get the ring. It was their only chance.


	15. Down, Down, Down in Goblin Town

**AN: Heyo! Nearly a double-length chapter today! Yeah, I made some really interesting story changes in this one, I hope you like them. And if you don't, shove it, this is my story, my fantasy of how I want things to end up.**

**Secondary note, the only phobia I allow here is arachnophobia cause spiders are nasty. I've gotten a little hate because of how I wrote both Eru and the god of "our world" so not cool, but what is _especially_ not cool is transphobia, so if you've got something nasty to say, you can sod off. Please. If you don't like it, you can write your own story, or read a different one.**

* * *

**Languages:**

_ Sindarin _

**Khuzdul**

_**Black Speech** _

* * *

Chapter 15

Revan couldn't sleep. Part of it was Balin's words the night before, part of it was the fact that there were likely Goblins underneath them at this very moment (a thought that kept her glancing at her swords _and_ the yet-to-be-named Sting in their scabbards) but mostly it was the ungodly snoring of dwarves.

During her days in Rivendell, she had spent most of her time in her room away from the company. During that time, she had gotten re-accustomed to sleeping in silence, and hadn't even realized it.

Then, sometime in the night, not long after midnight, she heard the rustle of fabric, and through lidded eyes she saw Bilbo roll up his blankets and pack everything. Once he was packed, the slight Hobbit stood, tiptoed his way around the sleeping forms of Dwarves, and made for the cave entrance.

"Where do you think you're going?" Fili hissed"

"Back to Rivendell," Bilbo replied, regret and homesickness clear in his voice.

"No no, you can't turn back _now ,_ you're part of the company! You're one of us," Fili argued, brows knit in concern.

"But I'm not though, am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was _right._ I'm not a Took, I'm a Bagggins. I don't know what I was thinking, I should have never ran out my door. Plus, it's not really _me_ you need, you've got Revan already. I wasn't even supposed to come on this quest."

"You're homesick; I understand," Fili said.

"No, you don't! You don't understand, none of you do - you're dwarves! You're used to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not _belonging_ anywhere." Immediately, Bilbo realized his mistake, matching Fili's slightly offended look with an apologetic one of his own. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" he began.

Fili cut him off with "No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere. I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do."

Giving him a sad smile, Fili placed a hand on his shoulder, and gave him one last look out the door. Immediately, though Revan leapt to her feet, blades out and glowing. She knew that for the events of seventy years in the future to come to pass, Bilbo _had_ to get the One Ring from Gollum, but she really _really_ didn't want to have to deal with Azog so soon.

The glow and Revan's sudden movement woke Thorin, who saw the sand falling between the cracks. "Wake up! Wake up!" he shouted, but a little too late, as the entire cave floor collapsed underneath them.

Mentally, Revan cursed herself for a fool as she tried to keep her blades from cutting herself as they all fell down the chute. She crossed her arms and held her blades to her sides to prevent them from cutting the other members of the company as well. Eventually, though, they fell into the wooden cage, and she hacked at every boil-ridden goblin hand she could see. Afterwards, though her swords were taken from her, many of the goblins were 'armless, she thought, before being dragged to her knees. A snappish retort was on the tip of her tongue as she looked up at whoever had yanked her to her knees, but was immediately silenced as she saw the terrified expressions on Fili and Kili's faces.

She realized then, that the two brothers had saved her life. Because, indeed, it was one thing to die an ignoble death at the hands of Goblins, but it would be much _much_ worse if she were to _not_ die in the capture of Goblins. That thought alone made her more than a little queasy. Soon, she heard the screeching of the pseudo-accordion the Goblins had made, and the throaty voice of the Goblin King bellow out, "I hear a song, _coming on!"_

She tried not to listen as the disgusting refrains echoed throughout the halls, but could not help hearing the bone-chilling ending, "Down down down, in Goblin Town,"he sang, pumping his fist, causing his… everything, to jiggle disgustingly.

"Catchy, isn't it?" he said. "It's one of my own compositions," he exulted.

"That's not a _song,_ " Balin objected, "That's an _abomination!"_ he hollered, as he made his way to the forefront of the group.

"Abomination! Mutation! _Deviation!_ That's all you'll find down here,"

Revan felt herself jerked around, only seeing different pairs of legs, and she realized - the company was hiding her! They had realized just as well as she what would happen if she were to be singled out, and were trying to protect her.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" he asked, leaning forward grotesquely upon his throne. "Spies? Thieves? _Assassins?"_ he near-shrieked as the Dwarves were searched.

"Dwarves, your malevolence!" a random Goblin answered.

'Dwarves?" the Goblin King asked, growing more interested.

"We found them on the Front Porch," the same Goblin answered.

"Well, don't just stand there! Search them! Every crack, every crevice!" the King bellowed, causing another flurry of hands and arms, jerking Revan around. She was just close enough to hear a particular goblin's snort of laughter as he crushed Oin's hearing trumpet underfoot.

The same goblin, she thought, grabbed a bag from one of the dwarves and emptied it out onto the rather rickety wooden floor, displaying all of the things that the Dwarves had "picked up" from Rivendell.

"It is my belief, your Protuberance, that these Dwarves are in league with Elves," the Goblin hollered, and suddenly Revan was quite sure that this particular goblin was the Great Goblin's second.

The Goblin King picked up an ornate, double-candle candlestick from his second's hand, and examined the base.

"Made in… Rivendell! Second age, couldn't _give it away!"_ he said, flinging it into the abyss.

The entire company looked at Nori, who said, "Just a couple o' keepsakes," he defended.

Before the questioning and searching could go further, she felt a strong hand betray her and shove her to the front. She staggered forward, stumbling over the pile of candlesticks, silverware, and assorted keepsakes that Nori had lifted from her home.

"Ooh!" the Great Goblin squealed, sounding for all intents and purposes, like a rather large child on Christmas, "What have we _here!"_

Not having time to curse out whoever had betrayed her, she tried to regain her composure in the face of… well, quite bluntly the most grotesque face she'd ever seen.

She thought she'd been prepared for the Goblin King from watching the movie, but to have the entire dimension of _smell_ added was nearly enough to make her lose her lembas bread.

She dusted herself off, took a moment to look into his mud-brown eyes, and said, "Someone who you _really_ don't want to cross, your Vileness."

"Oh! She's got _spirit,_ does she? Search her!" he screamed, and his second grabbed one of her arms as a weighty looking Goblin grabbed her other. She found herself squeezed, groped, and quite violated as the Goblins tore at her under the pretense of searching her. Not long after, she nearly cried in relief when she heard the King say, "That's enough, lads, we've got to save some for later," leering at her.

Her cloak had been removed and torn, her blades glowing, added to the pile at her feet, trousers torn in places, and her jacket ripped open, baring one shoulder and most of her midriff. Her knives had been pulled out of her boots and used to cut at her leather, some missing, now adding to the plethora of scars she would have to stitch up later, and her earrings, gifts from her brothers, had been ripped out of the top of her ear painfully, blood now streaming down the left side of her face.

The king picked up one of her blades, the purple one, and examined it. "I've heard of a young warrior, not far from here bearing red and purple blades. Tell me, slip of a thing, how did you take these from him?" he said with another leer, shaking his pustule-infested wattle at her.

"I made them, in fact, with the help of my Father, your Offensiveness," she snapped, trying to shake her blood-matted hair out of her face, glaring up at him. The two goblins had her arms pinned to her sides, one hand on her wrists, the other on her shoulders, pushing her into an uncomfortable bow. She glanced behind herself at the company, quickly, and saw Fili and Kili being barely restrained by the brothers 'Ri, and a look of anger, disgust, and… horror? On Thorin's face. She narrowed her eyes, knowing immediately who had shoved her forward, and resolved to give him a hiding he'd never forget once Gandalf came and got them out of this mess.

"Oh?" the king said, his halitocious breath wafting in her face and making her gag. "And who would that be, alleged warrior-maiden?"

"Oh, just a nobody, you've probably never heard of him," she said, forcing herself to grin at him, eyes alight with defiance.

Intrigued, he stepped off of his throne onto the unfortunate pile of Goblins he used as a step stool and footrest. "Tell me," he breathed.

"Elrond," she said simply, and watched his face flick between amusement, shock, disgust and into a cruel, malevolent grin. " _You're_ the Half-Elf's daughter, then?"

She chuckled dryly, matching his hatred for her own. "It would seem so, your Odious Highness,"

"Well, _you'll_ be a treat to have in the dungeon," he said, putting aside his skull-headed staff to cup her face, nearly crushing her jaw.

"Wait!" she heard a bellow behind her.

The King lurched back, closer to his throne, the two goblins throwing her to the ground.

"Well, well, well, look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under The Mountain," he said, bowing mockingly. "Oh, but I'm forgetting! You don't have a mountain. And you're not a king. Which makes you... _nobody_ , really. But I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. A vengeful enemy of yours," he said, stepping back to his throne. "A pale orc, astride a white _warg,_ "

Making a point not to look at Revan, Thorin stepped forward, "Azog the Defiler was _destroyed._ He was slain in battle _long ago!"_

Voice dropping to a menacing pitch, the King answered, "So you think his defiling days are _done?"_ He turned to a puny, malformed Goblin on a small chair lift. "Send word to the Pale orc. Tell him, 'I have found his _prize!"_

Cackling, the small goblin raced off on his chair-zipline, and Revan saw her moment. She lunged forward, rolling, ignoring the screaming complaints of cuts and bruises, grabbed Kili's bow, a few arrows, and did her best to shoot the small messenger down. Alas, it was too late, as all of her arrows but one fell short. The two goblins lunged for her, just as one arrow struck just beside the runt, and she forgot how to breathe as it was nearly unseated from its perch. It turned back to her, hissing and screeching, disappearing out of sight, well on its way.

"Naughty naughty, can't have that," the King said. "I would have been very displeased if you'd cost me my _reward,_ " he leered. Revan closed her eyes, trying not to breathe in the foul stench of death and decay.

* * *

For years, she tried to forget what happened next. All she could think about, was at this moment, Bilbo was waking up, down in some dark cavern, while a poor, twisted Hobbit beat to death a goblin on an island in the middle of an underground lake. She wondered how her dear friend was faring as Goblins tried to rip her shirt from her back, collapsing in on herself and hugging her knees to her chest, trying to protect her vulnerable front. As they grew angrier, they grew more and more careless, until her back was a mess of blood and lacerated flesh.

Eventually, the King started singing his demented, twisted song again, dancing around his throne, and his second started examining the swords. Once he got to Orcrist, he unsheathed it just enough to recognize it, and flung it away in horror.

"I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!" he shrieked, stumbling back to his throne. In fury, he screamed, "Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all!" Singling Thorin out from the Company, he bellowed, "Cut off his head!"

Just as Thorin was thrown down right beside her, his face trying to convey an unknowable amount of apology, a magnificent, beautiful explosion of light sent the Goblins and torture machines flying, and knocking the company to the ground.

Gandalf stood, framed by carnage and destruction. "Take up arms. Fight. Fight!"

The dwarves jumped to their feet, Thorin helping Revan up. Not saying a word, they picked up their weapons, and gritting her teeth through the pain, began hacking at the Goblins. The king, also knocked back by the blast, hollered, "He wields the Foe-Hammer! The Beater, Bright as Daylight!"

The rest of the Dwarves reached their weapons, charging into battle to Thorin and Revan's defense. Kili tripped over a goblin corpse, then, and the Great Goblin charged forward, bringing his cruel mace down. Thorin and Revan grunted with the effort, but they managed to deflect his blow. The Great Goblin staggered back, screaming his defiance, and tripped, falling into the abyss.

"Follow me! Quickly, Run!" the Wizard hollered, leading them down and down, on collapsing platforms, slicing through Goblins like butter. Thorin guided Revan to the centre of the company, where she would be protected (much to her annoyance) and then began his dance of death. They rolled stones to crush the oncoming hordes, and she lost sight of some of the company, but they were always rejoined.

Eventually, they came to a long, rickety bridge spanning the chasm, and the Goblin King burst through the planks. Enraged, he bellowed, "You thought you could escape from _me?"_ and took several swipes at Gandalf with his mace. "What're you gonna do _now,_ Wizard," he sneered, leaning in.

Unsurprisingly, Gandalf stabbed the Goblin King in the eye with his staff, causing the Great Goblin to stagger back. Screaming, the goblin lunged forward, only for Gandalf to slice cleanly, neatly through the Great Goblin's grotesque belly.

Nodding almost thoughtfully, the Goblin King conceded, "That'll do it," before having his neck cleanly sliced by Gandalf.

He fell forward then, and his weight caused the bridge and its wooden foundations to crack, creak and fall entirely down into the abyss, sliding down the rocky face. Each jolt caused Revan to scream in agony as she held on for dear life, the wooden structure eventually getting wedged between the narrowing cliffs, coming to a complete, slow stop at the bottom.

"Come on, quickly, there's only one thing that'll save us: Daylight" she heard the Wizard say, trying to come to her feet.

Fili and Kili grabbed her by the shoulders, one of them muttering "Sorry, miss," as they yanked her out of the wreckage and towards blinding daylight. She regained her feet, but the Dwarf Princes were stubborn and insisted they carry her down the hill.

"Three, four five, Gloin, that's six. And dwalin, that makes seven," Gandalf counted, looking around for Bilbo. That was the last Revan remembered.

* * *

Until she heard the howls, and felt the princes lug her around like so much dead meat.

"Out of the frying pan -" Thorin began,

"And into the fire. Run Run!" Gandalf bellowed, wheeling around.

Revan tried to pry open her eyes, but pain and dried blood had glued them shut. She was just barely on the edge of awareness, but she realized she must have missed a lot, as seconds seemed to have passed, but night had also fallen.

She was just aware enough to see the edge of the cliff, and help Fili and Kili hoist her into the tree. She clung for dear life onto a branch, the howling and bellowing of Orcs and Wargs not too far behind. She blinked again, and the forest floor was filled with Orc-ridden Wargs jabbing and snapping up at them through the branches.

"Gandalf," she tried to shout, voice hoarse from screaming. She tried again, louder. "Gandalf!" she hollered, finally getting the Wizard's attention. Seemingly nonsensical, she hollered "Call the Eagles! The Eagles!" Seeing confusion on Gandalf's face, she shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, trying to remember the past few hours and why there was an orc pack underneath them.

Oh, yeah. Right.

She summoned her magic and ignited one of the pinecones, dropping it onto the orcs below. Gandalf grinned, followed her lead, and soon Wargs were yelping and orcs were cursing at them in Black Speech. She nearly slipped, and felt a firm hand grab her close.

She looked up into the cool gaze of Thorin Oakenshield, who said, "Don't die on me yet."

"I'm not going to _die_ you bloody idiot, I have to **ikhshimitî mê** or **naikhlî** first!" she bellowed back," launching another flaming pinecone down at the Orcs.

She saw Gandalf talking to a moth and nearly collapsed against Thorin with relief. He was calling the Eagles; they were saved! Then she felt Thorin stiffen, and saw a pale orc, astride a white warg bound onto an outcropping of rock.

" _ **Do you smell it?"**_ he asked his mount, in Black Speech. " _ **The smell of fear?"**_

"Azog!" Thorin hissed, not believing.

" _ **I remember your father reeked of it,"**_ Azog said. " _ **Thorin, son of Thrain"**_

"It cannot be!" Thorin said, clutching Revan's arm.

Looking between the Pale Orc and the Dwarvish King-to-Be, Revan decided that she had thrown enough of a wrench into Sauron's plans for a moment to not go the full nine yards.

She launched herself at Azog, blades glowing, fully intending to cut off his head. She screamed in rage and defiance as she fell short. She rolled, and nearly wept as bits of dirt and twigs stuck to her bloody back, now ripped open again by her movement, and tried to run forward towards the Orc.

Wargs leapt in front of her and she sliced them, stabbing jaws and slitting throats in a red-hazed frenzy, her sole goal to eliminate this _abomination_ whose sole goal was to destroy her new family.

She screamed her defiance in Elvish, but was cruelly yanked back by two different races- the Dwarvish princes saving her from her death, and an orc that had grabbed her trying to rescue his leader.

She felt power suffuse her being, and her tattered and torn clothes caught in a heatless purple and red fire, Fili, Kili, and the Orc letting go in shock. Her blades flickered red and purple, glowing malevolently with their own flames, reflected in Azog and his warg's eyes.

She herself spoke then, in Black speech, the words cruel and uncomfortable on her tongue. " _ **Azog, the Cruel, in the name of Eru Illuvatar I sentence you to Death!"**_ and lunged toward her enemy. Her movements were not her own, something guiding her glowing blades, cutting through Orcs and Wargs alike, dodging blades and arrows she didn't know were there, as Azog stared impassively down at the fray.

In one glimpse, she saw that her wounds had healed, leaving thin, ropy scars where the Goblins' claws and her own blades had cut, and felt her mouth tug down awkwardly where one had sliced her face. In a free moment, she glanced to her side, and saw Thorin Oakenshield in all his glory fighting by her side. She felt her mouth tug into a lopsided grin, and with a mental command, Orcrist glowed with its own vengeful flame.

Fear had entered Azog's expression, then, as the duo carved their way through the Orcish ranks, nearly mirroring each other as they set Orcs and Wargs alight with flame. Soon, before they even reached some foes, arrows sprouted from faces, chests, as the rest of the company joined the fray in their own way. Revan stood back as the last of the pack was decimated, leaving only a trembling Azog cornered on his little outcrop. Thorin strode forward, and with a snarl, cleanly sliced off the White Warg's head, throwing Azog to the ground.

" **Who smells of fear** _ **now?"**_ Thorin quipped in Khuzdul as he smote off Azog's other arm and laid his shimmering, flaming blade to Azog's neck. " **Any last words,** _ **filth?"**_

" _ **Death. That is what will come for you. My master is the One! He will destroy you!"**_ he screamed, as Thorin swung back to take off his head.

Revan scarcely remembered the next few minutes as the burning corpse of Azog fell to the ground. She collapsed to the ground as well, completely exhausted. Thorin strode over, an insufferable, prideful look on his face. " **It is done,"** he said. " **Azog the Defiler is no more!"**

The cheering of the company was cut off as howling, more fervent and numerous than the entirety of the pack they had just slain echoed through the hills.

Realizing there was no way they, even in their God-infused battle rage, could never defeat such a numerous foe, Revan turned back to the trees.

That was her mistake. Revan had been healed by an unknown magic, but Thorin still bore his wounds. He was weak, tired, and overconfident. He bellowed his defiance at the Orc Pack following them, and refused to be silenced by her. He bellowed and bellowed, until an arrow caught him in the shoulder. He staggered back, clutching at the shaft sprouting from his shoulder, and looked at Revan in shock. He collapsed, finally succumbing to blood loss and exhaustion, the princes screaming out his name. She shielded him as best as she could as dozens, hundreds of orcs streamed down to the narrow outcrop, at their head, Bolg.

She parried and blasted with her magic, still exhausted. Though healed, she soon picked up more cuts as even the best defense was not perfect against such a horde

She only began to have hope when she heard the screech of an eagle, and saw a blur of golden feathers as the orc and warg in front of her was thrown off the cliff by an eagle. The downed Dwarvish Heir was picked up, limp in an Eagle's talons, and another grabbed her in its own claws just as she herself succumbed to the exhaustion and blood loss.

* * *

**Translations:**

**ikhshimitî mê-** Make you worry/frightened

**naikhlî -** Make you apologize


End file.
